


sweet dreams

by orphan_account



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Praise Kink, Tribadism, Vaginal Fingering, bottom clary, top isabelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 03:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13872636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Clary can't sleep, and Isabelle wants to tire her out.





	sweet dreams

Clary rolls over again, her legs tangling in the untidy mess of blankets at the foot of her bed. She stares up at the ceiling, blowing a strand of copper hair out of her face with a pout. On the small bedside table, the dull red light of her alarm clock blinks _2:04._

She lets out a tiny frustrated scream, tangling her hands in her hair. Her body is sore and exhausted, every muscle battered from training, but there are too many thoughts buzzing in her mind to let her sleep.

“I hate you,” she mumbles at the alarm clock, which blinks back obstinately. _2:05._

“Ugh,” she says, and swings her legs out of bed. The room is dark, and she doesn’t entirely trust herself not to trip and drop a candle, so she fumbles her way out in the faint moonlight, shutting the door quietly behind her.

It’s strange seeing the Institute at night. The hallway is quiet and still, and Clary shivers in the cold air. Of course the Shadowhunters had to pick the creepiest old building possible for their hiding place. They couldn’t just live somewhere _normal,_ like a cute little townhouse. She crosses her arms with a huff, walking quickly through the shadowed asylum until she reaches the hallway she’s looking for.

She hesitates for a moment outside the door, biting her lip. A small, annoying voice in the back of her head reminds her that it’s past two in the morning, and she should really be in her own bed. But she’s tired of tossing and turning, and her feet are slowly turning into ice cubes, anyway, so she shakes away the doubt and knocks.

There’s no response. Clary knocks again, this time a little more insistently.

 _“Mphm,”_ Isabelle says, and Clary takes that as close enough to an invitation to come in.

Inside, Isabelle’s room is warm and calm, lit only by the silvery light slipping through a crack in the curtains. Isabelle is lying half under silk sheets, her midnight hair spilling on the pillows, black lace clinging to the curves of her body. Clary hesitates by the door, suddenly self-conscious of the oversized white shirt she’s wearing over her panties.

Isabelle shifts, a lace strap falling slightly down her shoulder, and blinks groggily. “Clary?”

“I — um, I couldn’t sleep,” Clary says, crossing her arms a little shyly. Maybe it’s because she’s never really spent a lot of time around girls before, but sometimes seeing Isabelle makes her stomach dip strangely, like missing a step she thought was there.

Isabelle hums, pulling the sheet open. “C’mere.”

Clary pads across the room, the sheets rustling as she slips in beside Isabelle. The bed is soft and cushioned, probably more expensive than anything Clary has ever owned in her life, and she can smell the rose oil Isabelle perfumes her hair with. Isabelle is warm and close, her chest rising and falling steadily with her breath.

Clary closes her eyes, willing herself to just fall asleep.

It doesn’t work. Clary groans quietly, turning over to lie on her stomach, her face buried in one of Isabelle’s pillows. The sheet slips down slightly, and her loose hair fans out around her, brushing against the bare skin of her lower back. Clary thumps her head against the pillow, exhausted. She tries counting sheep, but a minute later the sheep turn into werewolves, and Simon is snarling at them with bared teeth, and she _can’t sleep._

She turns. And tosses. And turns again.

Somewhere around the fifth turn, Isabelle drapes her arm over Clary’s waist, her soft skin belied by steely strength. _“Clary.”_

“Sorry,” Clary breathes. Her shirt has rucked up to her chest, and Isabelle’s arm is warm against her bare stomach. She blinks at Isabelle, whose dark brown eyes are watching her, the flawless angles of her face made sharper in the shadows. “I can’t relax.”

She _really_ can’t relax now, not when Isabelle is looking at her intently, like Clary’s a problem she wants to solve. Her gaze sweeps across Clary, lingering on her bare skin and the soft swell of her chest. Clary’s breathing catches, something low and unfamiliar twisting in her stomach. Isabelle’s thumb traces a small circle against Clary’s skin, her lips parting slightly on an exhale. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

Clary barely has time to start freaking out when Isabelle sinks into her lap, her weight solid and warm. The black lace of her nightdress rides up her thighs, and her hands wrap loosely around Clary’s wrists as she leans in, her soft lips brushing against the curve of Clary’s neck. “Isabelle!” Clary squeaks.

“It’s okay,” Isabelle says, dropping butterfly kisses on Clary’s neck, the edge of her shoulder. She feels so warm against Clary. One of her hands leaves Clary’s wrist, tracing against her waist, and higher, leaving trails of heat across her skin. She rocks her hips, just barely, and Clary gasps. “Let me make you feel good.”

She looks up at Clary, the sweep of her eyelashes dark against her soft brown eyes, tendrils of black hair falling against her curves, and all of the little lies Clary has told herself about _not_ wanting this crumble. Her lips part on a sigh. “Please.”

Isabelle smiles, soft and warm, like this is a secret just for them, and then she kisses her, and _oh._

Clary has kissed before, and other things, with boys who were as fumbling and unsure as she was. It felt nice, if a little boring. She hadn’t minded it, really, but a part of her was always wondering when it was going to end.

It never felt like _this._

Isabelle kisses her like she’s aching for it, like she wants to take Clary apart until the only word she knows is her name. She kisses her hard, and then soft, the changing sensations making Clary’s head spin. Her hands fall on Isabelle’s waist without conscious thought, pulling her closer, and Isabelle whispers praise into her mouth.

When she finally breaks away, Clary is trembling. Isabelle presses another kiss to her neck, her hands falling to the edge of Clary’s shirt. “I want this off.”

Clary raises her arms obediently, letting Isabelle pull the shirt off, the fabric whispering against the sheets. Her skin is bare underneath, and she blushes, looking away as Isabelle stares at her. Isabelle’s hands fall back to her waist, comforting and warm. She leans closer, her soft hair brushing against Clary’s skin as she presses a kiss against her collarbone, and again, lower.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, trailing kisses against Clary’s skin. One of her hands comes up to trace the curve of Clary’s waist, draw circles just underneath her breast. “Wanted you for so long, God, Clary, you’re so —”

She kisses the crook of Clary’s neck, scraping her teeth against her skin and then soothing the hurt with her tongue. Her hand trails upward, brushing against a nipple, and Clary gasps.

“Good?” Isabelle says, and the curve of her lips makes Clary want to squeeze her thighs together, her core aching. Isabelle bends her head gracefully down, her soft lips kissing Clary, rewarding her whimper with her mouth, warm and wet.

 _“Isabelle,”_ Clary whispers, her hands coming up to tangle in Isabelle’s hair, soft and thick. She arches her back, her lips opening on a silent gasp as Isabelle kisses her. One of her hands brushes over the swell of Clary’s hip, slipping between her legs to stroke her damp panties. “Isabelle,” she says again, “please, I need —”

“Tell me what you need,” Isabelle says, lifting her head to move to Clary’s other nipple, kissing and licking. She traces the shape of Clary’s mouth, pressing softly against the indent between her lips with two of her fingers. Clary opens her mouth obediently, suckling on Isabelle’s fingers until she withdraws them, slips them between her legs again.

“You know,” Clary breathes as Isabelle touches her, wet and insistent. She’s still touching her over her panties, though, and it’s not _enough._

Isabelle looks up, drawing her touch away. She rocks against Clary slightly, their bodies fitting together perfectly, their loose hair a soft curtain from the rest of the world. Isabelle leans closer, presses a gentle kiss against her neck. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“I —” Clary blushes, biting her lip, as Isabelle kisses her neck, one of her hands at Clary’s waist and the other trailing lazy circles around a nipple. “I need to come, Isabelle, _please —”_

“You will,” Isabelle soothes, and Clary whimpers. She presses a last kiss to Clary’s neck, and then leans away, her hands fisting in her lacy black nightdress to pull it off. Underneath, she’s wearing nothing but a matching pair of panties, her body soft and feminine. Clary stares, her hands tightening on Isabelle’s hips.

“You’re gorgeous,” she blurts out, blushing. Isabelle’s lips tilt into a smile, and her fingers bring Clary’s chin up to pull her into a kiss.

The kiss is soft and gentle. Isabelle’s lips are warm against Clary’s, and when she finally pulls away, her lips are wet and shining in the faint light.

“Lean back,” she says, pushing Clary gently against the bed. She kisses the crook of her neck, her wavy hair brushing against Clary’s skin, and then trails her mouth lower, down the line of her stomach. She takes her time, her mouth clever, smiling when Clary’s breathing quickens. Clary bites down on her lip, her hips moving restlessly as Isabelle kisses her, one of her hands tightening around the edge of Clary’s panties and pulling the fabric tighter against her. “Do you touch yourself?”

 _“Ah_ — yeah,” Clary says, her back arching slightly against the increased pressure. Her hands fist in the sheets, desperate for something to anchor herself.

“What do you think about?”

Isabelle’s mouth trails across the upper edge of Clary’s panties, so close to where she needs it. Clary moves her hips in miniscule circles, aching. Her hands tighten in Isabelle’s hair, and the truth slips out of her mouth, as silken as Isabelle’s lips against her. “This.”

“Good girl,” Isabelle says, the praise sweet as honey, and Clary bites down on a gasp. She likes this, likes Isabelle holding her down and taking control. Telling her she’s a good girl. Her thighs part slightly, and Isabelle grips her hips, leaning down to press a slow kiss on her lower stomach. Clary bites down on a sob.

Isabelle’s mouth trails lower, her hands tightening on Clary’s hips until finally she presses her lips against Clary’s damp panties. The pressure is soft and insistent, and Clary’s hips jerk involuntarily, grinding down against Isabelle’s mouth. _“Please.”_

“God, you look so pretty like this,” Isabelle says, her fingers tightening around Clary’s panties again to pull the lacy fabric tight. She dips down, her mouth warm and wet against Clary’s panties, so close to giving her what she needs. She licks gently, kisses Clary’s clit, and Clary’s back arches, a moan slipping out of her mouth.

“Isabelle,” she whispers, her voice low and husky around her name, _“please,_ I need it, I need your mouth—”

The room is still and warm, quiet except for the muffled sounds of Isabelle kissing her, of Clary’s moans and the whisper of the sheets against their bare skin. Isabelle tightens her hands around Clary’s hips, lifting them up slightly so that she can pull down her panties. The air brushes against Clary’s core, and she whimpers.

“You’re beautiful,” Isabelle says again, trailing her fingers against Clary’s pussy, her soft pink lips and neatly trimmed copper hair. The pressure isn’t nearly enough, and Clary almost sobs, lifting her hips against Isabelle’s fingers. Isabelle soothes her with gentle hands, kissing her inner thighs, her touch warm and already familiar. She trails a finger through her wetness, and then presses inward, slipping it slowly into her. Clary’s thighs open wider, her hips moving with the rhythm of Isabelle’s hand. “So pretty, baby, so fucking _tight.”_

Clary bites down on her lip, grinding against Isabelle’s palm. She brings one of her hands up from Isabelle’s hair, cupping her breast in her hand, her back arching against the pleasure. Isabelle slips another finger into her, easy and wet. She crooks her fingers, finding _that_ spot, and Clary whimpers. “Feels so good, _please—”_

“I love it when you beg,” Isabelle says, and she bends her neck in a graceful arch, pressing a soft kiss against Clary’s clit. Clary moans, her stomach trembling. Isabelle’s mouth is soft and wet, licking her clit gently, matching the rhythm of her fingers. She trails her other hand from Clary’s hip to her back, making her arch her back harder against her mouth, and Clary whimpers.

“Please, _please,”_ she babbles, one hand tight in Isabelle’s dark hair and the other playing with her nipple, pinching the pink bud between her fingers. Isabelle slips in another finger, and Clary feels so _full,_ her hips shifting restlessly against the impossible heat of Isabelle’s mouth. Her back is arched against Isabelle’s hands, and she feels so safe, surrounded by Isabelle’s rose perfume, her touch taking her to the edge. “Right there, _ah,_ please, don’t stop—”

Isabelle laps at her clit, wet and soft and _perfect,_ and her fingers keep fucking Clary, steady and in control. Clary’s back arches, her thighs trembling as the pleasure heightens, so close to falling over the edge. Isabelle’s fingers go even deeper, her mouth worshipping Clary’s clit.

“Yes, yes, _please,”_ Clary gasps as her body fills with heat, her hips grinding involuntarily against Isabelle’s mouth, “please, Isabelle, _Isabelle,_ I’m coming—” The heat intensifies as she comes, her body shaking from the force of it, tight and hot and perfect. Isabelle keeps fucking her gently through it, easy and wet, until the overstimulation starts to hurt and Clary pushes her gently away. Her body feels utterly relaxed, melting into the silk sheets.

Isabelle smiles, pressing a kiss against her stomach, the underside of her breast. “Good?”

“Yes,” Clary sighs, blissful and still floating high. “God, your mouth is magic.”

Isabelle laughs, the sound gentle and a little smug. She kisses Clary’s neck, and Clary arches underneath her, still sensitive. Isabelle straddles Clary’s hips, her wavy hair falling down to her back. She’s perfect, her body caramel-toned and gorgeous, her waist curving delicately between her full hips and breasts. Her runes curl in a thousand different patterns across her body, the black ink dark against her skin. “Not magic, just practiced.” Her hips shift, her panties wet against Clary’s skin. “Can you give me another, baby?”

Heat pools in Clary’s stomach again at the pet name, and she hums, shifting her hips experimentally against Isabelle’s. She feels comfortable and warm, and Clary stretches her arms over her head, luxuriating in the feeling. Isabelle leans down over her, closing her in with her arms, grinding down against Clary’s wet pussy. “Can I—” Clary asks, tugging at the edge of Isabelle’s panties, and she nods. Clary pulls the fabric down, leaving them both bare. She bites her lip, arching her back a little against Isabelle.

It’s wet and slick and relaxed, and it’s not long before Clary trembles into another orgasm, this one gentler than the first. “Good girl, yeah, so _wet,”_ Isabelle says, praise dripping like honey from her lips as she grinds down for another few strokes, and then her muscles are tightening, her lips just barely parting on a moan as she comes. She looks beautiful, her full lips still wet and glossy, a faint flush on her cheekbones as she trembles through the aftershocks.

Isabelle’s arms relax, and she leans against Clary, her face buried in Clary’s neck. Clary strokes her hips gently as she comes down, tracing imagined patterns across her skin. The heat of her body is comforting against her own, and Isabelle presses a kiss against Clary’s neck, her lips curving into a smile against her skin. “We should do this every night,” Clary says, the words falling out of her mouth before she can think them through, and then she blushes, holding her breath for Isabelle’s answer.

Isabelle shifts, moving her weight off Clary’s body, but the heat of her skin is still close. She reaches out for Clary’s hand and trails her thumb in gentle circles across it, before pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Yeah,” she says, her voice affectionate. “We should.”

Clary feels happiness ballooning in her heart, bright and new, and she curls against Isabelle’s body, hiding her smile in her neck. Isabelle wraps an arm around Clary’s waist, her touch soft and comforting, and presses a kiss against her hair.

And then, warm and safe in Isabelle’s arms, Clary closes her eyes and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for coming to my ted talk
> 
> give me kudos please i need validation


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